It's Not About The Words
by Anya2
Summary: Jack just let her go. He never even said it. [AnnJack but doesn't solely focus on them]
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** It's Not About The Words  
**Pairing:** Ann/Jack  
**Characters:** Jack, Ann, Carl, Jimmy  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** Language – although nothing too major  
**Spoilers:** Goes right to the end of the movie so obviously spoilers galore.  
**Summary:** Jack just let her go. He never even said it.  
**Disclaimer:** PJ and chums own it. But since he's rather cool and cast the most perfect person imaginable in each role, I'll forgive him.

**Notes:** Part 1 of 3 (I think – I know what I'm intending to write but the number of parts will depend on how much I get waylaid with other thoughts.) This was originally going to be a straight Ann/Jack piece but Carl is such a fascinating character that he kind of crept in there too. As did Jimmy in part two. Personally, I'm not sure about this at all – but there again I've learnt not to take that as an indication of quality as I think most of what I write is rubbish until I come back and read it long after the event. Reviews/comments will be most gratefully received so I can fine tune the way things are going with the rest of this. Enjoy!

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**Part One**

Fetching the typewriter up off the desk and tucking it under one arm caused Jack to wince, the sharp, unforgiving metal poking in to another previously undiscovered bruise on his ribs. He ignored the pain though, picking up two piles of notebooks and paper, as many as his hands could safely grasp. The rough wool of his coat, slung precariously over his shoulder, scratched painfully at a graze but it didn't matter. The fewer times his exhausted legs had to climb up the stairs, the better. It was all about priorities.

Not that there was any reason to hurry. Englehorn had briskly informed him to remove himself from the hold and relocate to one of the now unoccupied cabins, with the distraction and disinterest of a man with far greater things on his mind than where the writer would sleep. As long as he didn't get in his way, Driscoll was the least of his concerns right now. Even with the remaining crew working in as single minded manner as their captain though, Jack knew it would be a while yet before they got the beast on board. They'd anchored the ship as close to the shore as they could without running it aground and, from what he could gather, they were sorting out some kind of raft to float the thing across. How they'd then get it up and into the hold he didn't know. Neither did he care. Just as long as they hurried up and got the hell away from this place.

Struggling through the narrow corridors, Jack picked himself a cabin whose former occupant had been unknown to him. It didn't seem quite so creepy that way. He dumped the things he was carrying on what little floor space there was, knowing he'd hate himself for being so careless with his half finished scripts in the morning, but not having the energy to care right now. A wash and a change of clothes had made him feel more human but it hadn't done much for his state of mind. He knew he was talking to himself more than a sane man should. He kept imagining that he saw unwanted things in every shadow. That every creak of the boat was the sound of something from the island coming to finish them off.

His reflection in the dirty mirror was that of a man he was vaguely familiar with. But this one had sunken eyes and pale skin. How long had it been since he'd slept? Eaten even? Twenty-four, thirty six hours? He should have passed out by now.

Staggering on unsteady legs, even though the boat was resting on a dead calm sea, he made his way to galley. He could find nothing there more appetising than some plain bread but it'd do for now. The table was gone – it'd been thrown overboard as they'd attempted to get free of the rocks – and so he lent against the door frame, trying not to think of Lumpy. It just made his throat go drier and it was hard enough to swallow as it was.

On the floor was a discarded rough blanket, a dried blood stain clear in the middle. He had a vague recollection that the blood was his. From his head wound, after the attack by the natives. He'd woken up disorientated and confused as the table had been yanked from underneath him and he had been tipped to the floor. Was that really just this time yesterday? Didn't seem possible.

"Time sure does fly when you're having fun," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief and regretting it as it seemed to rattle what was left of his brain around his skull.

He should rest; he was smart enough to know that. He was teetering on the edge of exhaustion and was more than likely concussed. But he was having even more trouble shutting off his mind than he normally did. He was a writer, he was used to those moments when his imagination hooked him on something and whisked him away so violently that he couldn't let go until it was down on paper. He was used to having times when so many thoughts assaulted him at once that he could hardly keep up, not realising that hours had passed until his eyes were so blurry he couldn't see straight to write anymore. But how did you process all that had happened in the last twenty four hours? How did you make sense of it?

Could you?

Stepping out onto the deck - needing the air, suddenly feeling more claustrophobic in the galley than he ever had in his cage - he froze, an unnatural sense of dread claiming him as he saw the fires blazing in the distance. Each flickering jolt of flame momentarily played across the enormous black mass lying on the ground before the light was seemingly swallowed whole by it. The cries of men could be heard, their scurrying forms working with a level of organisation he wouldn't have given them credit for. Their scruffy appearance belied their expertise. This was what they did.

He forcefully dragged his eyes away from the scene in an attempt to quash the suddenly heightened sense of unease he felt at the sight. As he turned his gaze was drawn towards the closer silhouette of a petite woman with blonde hair, standing as still as a statue, watching the crew work as though she could pick out their every small move even with such little light and long distance.

The flesh on her skin was raised, tiny goose bumps a testament to the ice that seemed to be forming in the air. Each breath was a cloud of light mist, drifting from her slightly parted, blue tinged lips. She hadn't even bothered to change since they got back. On instinct Jack moved to walk towards her, to wrap his coat around her shoulders and ask her to come inside. To get warm, to eat, to rest. To let it go.

As his first footstep hit the deck however he instantly saw her tense, her delicate fingers gripping the railings so hard he thought they might snap. He stopped immediately as if stung. It hurt just as much as it had when she had pushed him away and told him to leave her alone. When she had struggled in his arms to free herself from his grasp, fighting against him, looking at him with a potent mixture of hate and disgust, rejecting his attempts to soothe her. That look on her expressive face had been strangely so much more disturbing to him than anything else he had witnessed since coming to this island.

"It's not about the words," he whispered thoughtfully to himself and he took a couple of paces away from her, backing down, knowing when he wasn't wanted.

What did she expect of him? He didn't really want to see the beast captured anymore than she did. He just wanted to get the hell away from here whilst their luck was still holding out. He wanted to go back to his theatre, back to the real world where the scariest thing you could face was your producer and the only thing hunting you down was the rent man. But what could he do about it? Englehorn wasn't going to listen to him. Times were desperate, money was short, ordinary people were going hungry and barely surviving on what little they had. Carl's promises of wealth and riches were a far more potent pull than whatever a writer and an actress could say about how wrong this was. And Jack could understand that in a way. He was a realist. He understood the way the world worked. Englehorn had lost many of his crew on this trip. Colleagues. Friends. People who had families back home who were relying upon them. They needed to bring something back from this trip. It was a simple matter of survival.

Jack could understand that, even though it made him slightly sick to the stomach that he did. That thing wasn't some monster; it was just a big animal whose home they'd invaded. It didn't hate them, it didn't hunt them down out of some malicious need to harm them. It was just acting on instinct, doing what animals do. It didn't know any better. And it didn't deserve this. He pitied it. But in the grand scheme of things if it meant a few families didn't have to go hungry for a while was it worth it? It was only an animal after all.

Was that the kind of man he was? Someone who'd trade what was right for the sake of survival?

Some hero…

To be honest, since meeting Ann Darrow he wasn't entirely certain who he was anymore. He knew who he used to be. He didn't write comedies for a start. He didn't fall for cute blondes at first sight, no matter how beautiful they were. And as a general rule, he didn't go racing off into dangerous jungles to rescue damsels in distress. Who the hell was that guy? Certainly not anyone he recognised as Jack Driscoll.

The smell of whiskey hit him a good few moments before he saw Carl step up beside him, leaning on the railing, a slightly manic grin on his face. Jack smiled half heartedly in return. He didn't know what to make of the other man right now. It should be easy. He should hate him for nearly getting them all killed, risking everyone's lives for the sake of his damn film and not being able to admit defeat even if it meant destroying everything in his path. But something about Carl always made it very hard to hate him, no matter how much he screwed you over. Maybe it was because in the end, no matter what he did, it was always for the sake of the art's glory, not his own. There was something sort of noble in that. Stupid and selfish, but oddly noble. And a small bit of Jack respected it.

"Jeez Carl, what did you do?" he asked with a heavy sigh, wrinkling his nose a little in disgust, "Marinate yourself?"

"Just a little celebration, Jack," the other man replied with far more clarity than someone who had clearly drunk a small distillery should be able. Jack had known Carl a long time and he had rarely seen him without a drink in his hand. He either had one hell of a strong stomach or was actually permanently intoxicated. Which would in fact explain a lot.

"Thought you'd be out there," Jack said, nodding towards the shoreline, "Keeping an eye on your meal ticket."

"Our meal ticket," Carl hastened to correct, "And no, I thought it'd be best if I stay here and leave it to the experts. They do the skilled stuff, I just plan how to show their work off."

Jack looked at him sceptically, "Englehorn told you to stay the hell away, right?"

There was a small hesitation.

"Something like that," Carl admitted with a wry smile. He looked down at the railing for a moment before letting out a short laugh, "Actually he said I was a crazy, reckless son of a bitch and he had a good mind to chain me in my cabin for the rest of the trip."

Jack smiled hollowly, "He knows you too well…"

Silence reigned between them for a long moment. Jack followed Carl's gaze, even now unable to stop studying people. It was a habit he didn't think he would ever shake.

He watched as Carl starred intently at the creature, lost in his own thoughts, his mind planning, already seeing those lights declaring that Carl Denman's wondrous attraction was there for all the world to see. It was never the money that excited Carl, that was just a necessary evil. No, he was always in it for the show. To give the audience what they wanted. Or what he thought they wanted.

Slowly his gaze turned, momentarily settling upon the form of Ann who had moved herself further up the deck, away from them. For a split second Carl's expression changed, something akin to guilt flickering across his features as he looked suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.

By the time he looked back up at Jack again it was well gone.

"Why don't you come inside?" he offered, his geniality sounding a little more forced than before, "Join me and Preston for a celebratory drink or ten?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, unable to crush the harsh tone in his voice when he spoke.

"And what exactly are you celebrating, Carl? Seventeen men died out there today. Seventeen men. Some of them were supposed to be your friends."

Carl looked at him, his expression darkening. He understood that, Jack was sure he did. He felt their loss but he just couldn't bring himself to admit that it was a terrible thing and something had gone horribly wrong. As though to do so would be akin to admitting his own guilt. And he definitely couldn't do that. He couldn't take the blame.

"It wouldn't be an adventure if there wasn't any risk involved," Carl stated firmly, like it was gospel.

"Since when was this an adventure?" Jack asked, shaking his head, "Thought you came out here to make a film, Carl? What happened to your big ambition?"

Or should that be obsession?

"You have to take your opportunities when they come," Carl preached, eyes once again set on the beast, "Some men can sit back and let the chances slip them by. Some can take the easy road and do nothing remarkable when remarkable things present themselves. I wasn't born that way. I'd rather live to regret the things I've done than to sit back and always wonder 'what if'."

Jack starred at him for a long moment.

"You amaze me, you know that?" he eventually said, leaning heavily on the railing, his eyes turned away and fixed on the dark ocean.

"Thanks."

"That's not a compliment."

More silence between them. In the distance they could hear Englehorn shouting something to his men but the sea breeze had whipped the words together so that from here they just sounded like noise. Jack thought he could hear the snuffling breaths of the unconscious animal, but that may just have been his imagination wreaking havoc with his state of mind again. He was tired, everything hurt and by all rights he should be lying on his bunk asleep. He could probably forgive himself a little paranoia in the circumstances.

"Englehorn says it'll be dawn before they can get the beast over here," Carl informed him in a conversational tone, as though he thought Jack really cared.

"He's not a beast."

Both men turned to see Ann glaring at them the light breeze whipping her hair around her still dirty face, making her look almost as wild as the island behind her. Her eyes were tainted with a deep stain of indignity, as though Carl had just insulted her.

"He's an animal," she said bitterly, her voice shaking from the cold or emotion. Probably both.

"He's just a big, innocent, animal."

Carl raised his eyebrows, his gaze challenging her, a sudden brutality to his words.

"Innocent? Did you see the whole group of guys it splattered back there? Don't seem too innocent to me."

Now Jack knew Carl wasn't a stupid man. He knew that he understood there was no way Ann would agree with that, that it would only likely anger her further. So why say it? He was usually so good with people. He needed to be, he relied on his charm and powers of persuasion to get them to do what he wanted with only the scantest promise of payment.

Maybe this was his only way of justifying everything to himself; to say it out loud and hope it sounded like the truth.

"You attacked him," she snapped, angered, "He was trying to defend himself."

"It was trying to take you," Carl reasoned.

"He wouldn't have hurt me," she insisted resolutely, her lips trembling slightly, tears refusing to fall.

Jack's instinct told him to go put an arm round her but his feet held their ground.

"There's only one beast here," she spat in disgust, "I hate you."

Jack couldn't confess to knowing her as well as he should, but he had a feeling that from Ann Darrow, that meant more than from most others.

As she hurriedly walked past them, heading down to the decks below, Jack momentarily caught her gaze. Her expression was unreadable and he couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't only been talking about Carl.

When she disappeared from sight, Carl starred unseeingly ahead of himself for a long moment, the mask slipping, a thought of doubt swirling in his eyes. Then he shook his head and it was gone.

"Women, eh?" he said with an unconvincing smile, "You can never please 'em."

Jack declined to comment.

"Do you love her?" Carl asked quietly after a moment's hesitation, leaning on the railing next to him. When Jack failed to answer that question he did it for him.

"I guess you do. More than your theatre anyway. You wouldn't jump into a harbour for that. You faced a twenty five foot ape for her…"

He barked out a bitter laugh, "And what do you get for your troubles, eh? You'd have been better off trying your luck with the harbour."

Carl laughed to himself once more, as though he found the whole thing rather ludicrous. Jack would have been offended if he hadn't almost agreed with him.

"Look, don't worry about," Carl continued, slapping Jack on the shoulder and apparently ignoring the fact that he winced the instant he did so, "She's just tired and emotional. Once she has a fur coat round her shoulders and is decorated to the hilt with diamonds, she'll forget she was ever mad at you."

Jack looked skywards, not quite able to decide if the other man was insensitive or simply stupid.

"Seriously, we're gonna be rich, Jack," Carl said, that worryingly manic grin spreading across his face once more, stabbing his finger towards the black silhouette on the shore, "We get that baby back to New York and people will pay whatever we ask to see it. I told you, I never stiff a friend. We'll be famous. All of us. Just you wait and see."

"You can count me out," Jack muttered tiredly, running his fingers back through his slightly damp hair.

Carl looked at him incredulously, slipping so easily into his showman role, "Yeah, out of your damn mind more like!"

He grabbed Jack by the lapels of his coat.

"Don't you see," he said, brimming with excitement, "You could be a star, Jack! The sensitive writer who braved the jungle and the fury of the beast to rescue his lady love. People lap that kinda stuff up. They need that right now, they need to hear there's still good around - god knows things are depressing enough out there as it is."

"And since when are you a spokesman for the people, Carl?" Jack asked with a deep, concerned frown, shrugging Carl's grasp off.

Carl scowled at him, suddenly fierce, his mood flipping as though Jack had pressed some kind of button.

"Hey, I've spent my entire life trying to please the people," he snapped, stabbing his finger roughly into Jack's chest, "I'm one of them, I know what they want. I know what they need. They need heroes."

For the first time since they'd met Jack began to wonder what the obsession that drove him had really done to Carl Denham. Did the man live in the real world anymore? Did he even know it existed?

Jack shook his head and turned away, walking back below deck, "I'm sorry Carl, you've got the wrong guy. I'm not that man."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to all who left reviews. It is very encouraging to hear people have been enjoying this - especially considering it's a lot of thought and not much action :D

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****Part Two**

Ann could hear people moving about but she rarely caught little more of them than fleeting glimpses of them. It was like they were all hiding in the shadows and dark corners of the ship, afraid to be seen, not wanting to draw attention to themselves lest it make them the newest casualty of this trip.

Carl, it appeared, had drunk himself into a stupor destined to last most of the return journey. She wasn't sure if it was the effects of seeing so many people he knew die finally catching up with him, or just worry about what would happen when they got back. He was still a wanted man.

Preston crept through the corridors, a haunted expression on his face, his hand constantly clutching at the wound on his cheek that she knew would leave a scar. Captain Englehorn maintained a constant vigil at the helm, as though he trusted no one else to see them safely home. With his first mate gone he probably didn't. Bruce didn't dare brag about his own heroics to anyone, although she was sure some gentle coercion from the papers back in New York would change that.

And Jack kept changing cabins, as though he couldn't get comfortable in any one of them. They hadn't spoken a word since returning to the ship but she always knew where he was – whichever cabin he moved to he seemed to do nothing but type like a man possessed. She could hear the hammering of keys wherever she went.

Secretly she thought he'd have been more comfortable back in his cage, but that was occupied now.

Ann herself felt isolated and alone. No one would look at her, not directly. At first she thought it was guilt on their part – she had been more than vocal in her aversion to their capture of the animal, and it was obvious even to the most hardened sailors that she found it distressing. That she thought it was wrong. Slowly though she began to wonder if it was fear, not guilt that kept them so distanced from her. She knew the beast, had some sort of connection to it that they did not understand and did not sit well with their superstitious minds. No one wanted to tempt fate by being too close to her.

She didn't know what she dreaded more; staying here or getting home. Here she seemingly had nothing but herself and the crew's awkward, accusing glances. But what did she have to go home to? Manny would have left for Chicago by now. Everyone else she knew at the theatre would have dispersed elsewhere, to new jobs or places with better prospects for one. She had no job, no money, no friends. No home. She had nothing to show for this trip but bruises and a guilty conscious.

She had betrayed him.

The rational part of her mind knew that was a stupid notion. She hadn't wanted this. She hadn't knowingly led him into a trap. It wasn't like she'd done anything dreadful, just tried to leave. She couldn't have stayed here on this island with him for the rest of her life. She'd just wanted slip away quietly with Jack without causing any fuss. When Kong woke up she would've been gone and maybe he would've looked for her for a while, been a bit confused about the whole thing, but he'd have forgotten her. Eventually.

But it hadn't worked out like that. He had chased them in a fury. As they had been running through the dense, unforgiving jungle she hadn't been able to work out whether it was only Jack he was chasing with such ferocity, or whether his anger was directed at her too. If he had caught her, would she have ended up like the other sacrifices made to him? A broken pile of bones at the bottom of a cliff? What did he see her as? A toy? A possession? One of his family?

He had protected her, she knew that much. Saved her life at risk to his own. And she'd betrayed him. Unwittingly or not she had led him into the belly of the beast.

All she could remember was screaming and struggling, telling them to let her go, that it was her that he wanted. She didn't know what she was going to do if she got back to him. She didn't know how she'd make a twenty-five foot ape understand that she had to go back with her own kind, but her instinct had told her it was the only way to get him to back down. To make him safe the same way he had made sure she was.

He was intelligent, she knew he was. He wasn't just some huge dumb animal. He responded to her and her actions – he was amused by her performances, he sulked when she told him 'no', he got angry when she didn't do as he wanted and he protected her when she was in trouble.

And he could look at the sunset and find beauty in it.

He had thought she was in danger, that's why he'd gone so crazy. She was screaming and struggling, he thought that the men were trying to hurt her and it was his duty to protect. If only she could have made him understand.

She could hear the crew talk about 'the monster'. Some were worried. Yes, they had got it in the hold but it was too large to cage so they kept it tied and sedated and hoped for the best. A man with a rifle stood guard at the hold entrance, although she was pretty certain that was more to keep her and Carl out than the animal in. There were whisperings that the chloroform supply may run out before they got back. They couldn't risk it waking up – it'd likely go crazy and sink the ship. A small, deep part of Ann wished it would. It would solve an awful lot of her problems.

If she had her way she would've remained secluded in the relatively homely atmosphere of her cabin for the rest of the voyage. When she had first returned to the ship, she had found it still in the same state that it had been after her kidnap. Clothes, beauty products and books were everywhere. Thankfully the body of the sailor who had tried come to her aid when he heard her screams had been removed. The blood stain was still there though. She'd spent hours trying to scrub that away. She wasn't entirely sure if an outline of it still remained or if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her. She should have slept that night, but she spent most of the time tidying and repairing the best she could. It had taken her two days to get everything back in order, broken by fitful naps or the need to eat. She had felt much better once she had finished though; it was like tidying away one memory of all that had happened to her. But now, when she sat there too long with nothing to do - when she thought too much - she imagined she could hear the laboured breaths of the captive below.

Now she trod steadily down the oppressive, wood lined corridor. Jack had been right, she had developed good sea legs. The ship pitched and rocked on the rolling ocean and yet she moved with ease. The galley should be empty by this time of night. She could get herself something to eat and drink and then return to her cabin without running into anyone.

As she entered the room she frowned slightly to see a table and three mismatched chairs in, what for the past few days, had been empty space. Clearly someone had been trying to return things to some sense of normality in here. Or a workable state at least. She had a feeling things would never quite be the same on the SS Venture though.

Heading into the kitchen itself she came to a sudden halt two paces inside the door as she saw someone.

Jimmy.

He looked startled to see her. As though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Oh!" she muttered hurriedly, feeling awkward and unguarded, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

She shook her head in a distracted manner, not really knowing what she was apologising for.

"I'll go".

She turned to do just that before his voice stopped her.

"Miss Darrow?"

She looked back, strangely apprehensive.

"Here," he offered with a small smile, holding out a stained mug with what smelt like coffee in it, "It's not as good as Lumpy's but it is hot."

After a moment's hesitation she took it in slightly unsteady hands. Her first sip made her realise that it was in fact far better than Lumpy's coffee ever had been, but Ann decided that if she said so Jimmy would likely take it more as an insult to his friend than a compliment for himself.

"Thank you," she said after a second sip, a grateful smile gracing her face.

He smiled shortly in return before scuttling round her, in an oddly over fussy manner, heading over to the table and pulling out a chair.

"Here," he said, ushering her over there and virtually forcing into the seat, "You sit down and I'll fix you something to eat."

Without giving her time to protest, he hurried back into the kitchen. Ann could hear him hastily searching amongst the remaining pots and pans, his manner almost frantic as though he was afraid she might disappear if he didn't impress her fast. She turned in her seat, deciding not to get up in case he just pushed her back down again – her shoulders were bruised enough as it was.

"Really," she began, shaking her head, "That isn't necessary…"

She didn't want to be any bother to anyone. She'd put this crew through enough trouble as it was.

"We have potatoes," he assured in an almost nervous fashion, his head suddenly appearing the other side of the hatch way as though he hadn't heard her at all, "I could do you a bake potato."

He frowned.

"Would be a bit dry on its own though. Hang on."

He disappeared again.

"Please, Jimmy," Ann pleaded, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable at him trying to pamper her so, "You don't need to go to any trouble. I'm fine. It's….fine."

"Cheese!" he exclaimed, his head appearing again, again ignoring her protests, "I found cheese. It's a bit mouldy round the edge, but I'm sure it'll be okay on the inside, right?"

After a short pause she smiled at him gently, admitting defeat. Who was she to argue with that kind of enthusiasm? And it would be nice to talk to someone.

"Right," she agreed, "Thank you."

Ann didn't know much about Jimmy or where he'd come from, and from what she heard, neither did the crew. Most said they picked him up like some kind of stray. They joked about it. Wherever he'd come from though, she had a feeling he had been in a kitchen before. His cooking was up to scratch at least. The jacket potato he set in front of her was a little burnt around the edges but the inside was cooked perfectly.

"So," she said, trying not to grin at how deliberately and carefully he was eating in her presence, "What are you gonna do when we get back to New York?"

"Well, this ship needs repairing," he stated with an air of proud knowledge, as though at such young an age he was a world weary expert on the matter, "She's sea worthy right now but all that patching up we did down below ain't gonna last forever. She needs to be fixed proper."

"Is that another one of your skills then?" Ann teased lightly, "Cooking, sailing, ship repairing…"

He shook his head.

"Oh, no. But Mr Hayes always said I should learn a trade. He said I should be a skilled worker because they've got more prospects and stuff. I'm gonna try see if I can get an apprenticeship. They're always gonna need ship fitters and repairers, right?"

"Right," Ann agreed softly, although in truth she had no idea. Things were pretty rough whatever trade you were in right now, but she wasn't about to tell him that. He sounded so hopeful, so certain.

"What about you Miss Darrow?" he asked, "What are you going to do when we get back?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Try to find another acting job, I guess."

"There ain't much work for you theatre types at the moment then?" the young man asked with a frown.

Ann had forgotten how long he must have spent at sea and how out of touch he must be with the real world. She didn't know whether to pity or envy him.

"A lot of theatres have closed down," she explained, "People just don't have the money to go see shows at the moment so no one has the money to put them on."

He nodded in understanding. He may not be well educated but she could tell he was always learning. He was the type who absorbed every bit of information.

"Hey," he said brightly after a moment's thought, "Why don't you ask Jack? I'm sure he's got loads of plays you could be in."

Ann felt the blood drain from her cheeks slightly.

"No. No, it's okay. I don't think Mr Driscoll has anything for me right now."

If Jimmy noticed how uncomfortable the mention of Jack had made her he was good enough not to let it show.

"Well, don't you give up," he said encouragingly, trying to sound like someone far beyond his years, "Mr Hayes always said that if you got real talent at something people can't take that away from you and you'll always come out on top in the end."

Ann looked up at him from over the brim of her coffee mug.

"He meant a lot to you, didn't he? Mr Hayes?"

There was silence for a moment. Jimmy's gaze dropped to the table, his fork suddenly playing listlessly with his food rather than eating it.

"He's was a good man," he said eventually, "I respected him."

Ann could see how torn he looked – an unsettling mixture of man and boy, struggling with giving measured response of a man who had lost a trusted colleague and mentor, and the emotional reaction of a boy who had lost a father figure.

He leant across the table a little, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I've been saving, you see," he began, almost an admission of something he seemed afraid to say out loud, "Putting my wages aside. I was gonna go to school. Learn business stuff so we could make some real money for once."

Ann struggled to maintain her own composure, swallowing hard as his voice cracked a little.

"I never even told him," he said, looking troubled, "It was gonna be a surprise."

On instinct she reached across the table and took his hand, running her thumb comfortingly over the back of it.

"I'm sorry," she soothed in a pained whisper.

He shook his head softly, in a horribly empty manner, "Weren't your fault, Miss Darrow."

"See, that's the problem," she replied with a weak smile, "I feel like it is."

He squeezed her hand tightly in return. Too tight.

"No. It weren't you," he said firmly, a sudden cold malice in his tone that felt all wrong, "It was that monster. But we got him. And he ain't gonna hurt anyone anymore. We beat him."

The unexpected feral look in his eyes made Ann's stomach tighten and she backed away a little, removing her hand from his grasp. She suddenly understood what the crew meant when they said Jimmy could be as wild as some of the animals they carried.

"That's what we do here, you see," he continued forebodingly, "We catch the monsters and put 'em on display so everyone can see them and not be afraid anymore. They think they can win. They think they can cut us down, but we always get them in the end."

Ann swallowed into her suddenly dry throat. There was a darkness to Jimmy, Hayes had been right. But it wasn't brought out by who he was or what had happened to him, but what had happened to his friend. It was a desire for revenge.

"Miss Darrow?" he asked with a small frown, the sinister look on his face having disappeared entirely, "Are you alright?"

She nodded too quickly.

"Fine," she lied, "Just tired."

"Well you can sleep sound on here," he said brightly, patting the back of her hand in a reassuring manner as he got up to clear the table, "You're safe from him now."

"Yes," she whispered hollowly, her eyes carefully watching his progress back into the kitchen, "No more running from the monsters."

* * *

Ann made her way along the now familiar corridor with careful footsteps. Maybe this late at night they would leave him unguarded, think that she was asleep and so there was no need for such vigilance. Or maybe she could just sneak past the man with the rifle. She was quick and agile. If she could just distract him for a moment she could be down there before he even noticed. She didn't want to cause any trouble, she just needed to make sure that he was all right, that they were treating him okay. 

She was so pre-occupied with planning that it didn't register that the sound she could hear were voices heading in her direction until they were no more than a few feet away and quickly gaining. It was Carl and Preston, the New York accents unmistakable. So far she had deftly avoided Denham. From what she'd overheard he was planning on producing some kind of gigantic show and wanted her in it. Ann didn't want to see him until she wasn't quite so exhausted and had a straight enough mind so she could tell him what she really thought of him and where he could stick his show.

With barely a thought she opened the door to the nearest cabin and slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind her. She pressed her ear hard to door, listening to the muffled conversation of Carl's outlandish ideas and Preston's reasoned objections. Some things never changed.

When their footsteps were completely out of earshot she let out the breath she'd barely been aware she'd been holding. That was too close. She was smarter than that, she had to be more careful.

She turned to go, wanting to hurry up in case they came back this way, but was stopped in her tracks when her eyes fell on something her brain hadn't even considered.

The cabin was occupied.

Jack.

For a moment she was frozen rigidly to the spot, a mixture of horror, embarrassment and alarm paralysing her. She relaxed just the slightest bit when she realised that he was in fact fast asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and gentle. He was lying face down on the small bunk that must be uncomfortable for such a tall man. His head was resting in his folded arms and his bare back was on display. It was mottled with angry looking bruises and vicious cuts and scrapes that didn't seem to sit well with the peaceful, dreamless look on his face.

In everything else that had happened she kept forgetting that he had come to rescue her. That he had kept going when everyone else had given up on her and turned back. He wouldn't write her off as dead until he knew for sure. He couldn't. It was like something out of one of his plays.

But as much as she wanted him to he didn't understand. He couldn't. All he'd seen of Kong was a big angry animal that had tried to kill him.

And try as she might, all she kept seeing when she looked at Jack was one of 'them'. The 'others'. The faceless crowd who didn't care what happened to something beautiful.

She moved a little closer.

Maybe she'd been right when she spoken to Denham back in that café. She didn't believe in love after all. She didn't trust it. It was doomed. It only really belonged in plays and films where people could ride off into the sunset and in your mind you could imagine they lived happily ever after because that's what you wanted to believe.

As stupid as it seemed, she'd been in love with Jack Driscoll before she'd even met him. Every word he'd ever written spoke to her in a way no other writer did. That he confessed to loving her back had been some kind of bizarre fairytale. She'd been so wary of it at first, not believing it could be real. That wasn't the way things worked out for her. She was just a vaudeville actress who'd lucked her way into a movie. It shouldn't be possible, But she'd let herself be drawn in by him and for a few brief moments everything was wonderful.

It seemed so faded now.

"Good things never last," she muttered softly to herself, not for the first time in her life seeing the truth of those words.

Jack's eyes instantly flew open, even though she knew he couldn't have possibly heard that. His gaze fixed straight on her like she was some kind of beacon. Ann jumped back at least a foot, banging roughly into the door.

He sat up sharply, hurriedly pulling the sheet around him.

"Ann, I…," he stuttered, blinking in surprise and sleepy headed confusion, "What….Why are you here?"

She flailed helplessly for words, wishing something would come out of her rapidly opening and closing mouth. When nothing did she turned sharply, stubbing her toe painfully on the door as she hurriedly searched for the handle and escape.

He stood up, seemingly having regained some of his composure.

"Jeez, are you okay?" he asked, moving towards her with genuine concern in his expression, "Do you wanna sit down?"

"I'm…Er…I..I got lost," she stammered, her brain still working on answering his previous question, "I…erm….No….No thanks. Sorry…"

To her overwhelming relief her hand finally settled on the door handle and in moments she was fleeing down the corridor. She didn't leave her room again that night, thoughts of visiting Kong the last thing on her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **When I said this was going to be a 3 part story I underestimated my ability to get carried away. Since the original version of part 3 ended up twice as long as the others I've decided to split it into two. So here's three and four will be following shortly...

* * *

**Part Three**

Twelve weeks after it had departed, the rather battered and almost defeated looking SS Venture arrived safely back in New York, virtually sighing with relief as she eased into the dock. Police were awaiting her arrival. Or to be more precise awaiting Carl Denham's arrival. Three months certainly wasn't long enough to make his investors forget just how much he had stolen from them in order to try to finish his film.

"Well," Carl muttered apprehensively to Jack, warily eyeing the angry looking welcoming committee, bracing himself with a deep steadying breath and a swig from his hip flask, "Here goes nothing. Wish me luck."

Jack let him walk off without doing so, the words sticking in his throat when he attempted them.

Sighing deep and frustrated he leant heavily on the railings, content to watch the action from a distance, not really sure what to do with himself. He had nothing to pack – he'd been all but kidnapped onto this voyage in the first place – and he had neither the energy nor the inclination to get himself involved in Carl's problems right now. The man was still his friend, Jack had known him too long for even the events of this trip to change that, but boy did he make it hard work at times.

He supposed he should go really, get back to his life in the city. The theatre was waiting for him, calling him home. He wondered if they'd still put on his play despite his disappearance or if they'd simply given up and gone with something else. He wondered if anybody had known where he'd gone or if it just seemed to the wider world that he had simply vanished without a trace. What had they been saying about him? Did they think he was dead? He hoped the obituaries had been good.

He should call his parents back in Chicago too, they were probably getting worried by now. He didn't speak to them all that often, but three months was a long time to have no contact whatsoever, even for his family.

He had so much he could and should be doing right now, that much was clear, but still he made no motion to leave. He couldn't. It seemed just too odd to simply walk away after all that had happened.

And then there was Ann.

He still hadn't spoken to her, not properly at least. Each of their few, short conversations had consisted of formal pleasantness and polite niceties, all punctuated with awkward silences. In truth, he had always found talking to her a little difficult, his brain unable to adequately express what he felt or wanted to convey, but now it was proving to be neigh on impossible. He could never find the words, the irony of a writer being in that situation not lost on him.

But somehow he kept managing to persuade himself that he didn't really need to. That surely she knew by now. Wasn't it obvious? Wasn't it more than words?

Why couldn't he just say them then?

"Excuse me."

He jumped near half a mile even though Ann's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of arguing from Carl and his investors and the workings of the dock around them. Jack's gaze flew up from the dark streets in the distance to see her standing there, looking apologetic and uncomfortable. She seemed a different woman with the fancy dresses and make up gone, her petite frame shielded instead under a simple coat and hat, her small fingers clutching at the handle of her suitcase. Winter had made its way to New York since they had last left and her pale skin was edged with blue in response. She no longer looked like the glamorous film star in the making, just another actress trying to make it in a big city.

Not that he found her any less enchanting.

When Carl had first told him that he'd hired a former vaudeville performer to play the female lead in his film, Jack had been horrified. Outraged even. A glorified clown wouldn't do for one of his works. He needed a real actress. Someone who could live the part, not just play it like some kind of walking cliché. But Carl had been right, like he so annoyingly often was when you least expected it, there was something indescribable about Ann Darrow. Something Jack found mystifying. Captivating. She was a writer's dream. Every emotion she showed on film was real, like she'd lived each of them a thousand times over. Like she felt every word as though it was the truth of her own life.

Except when he'd kissed her. There'd been something unexpected in her face then – fear? Mistrust perhaps? Not of him, he was sure, but of the feelings themselves. He could sympathise with that and it only made him want to kiss her more.

Yet he still couldn't put it into words.

He held her gaze for a moment, his brain working over time, trying to come up with something appropriate. When nothing was forthcoming and the moment was becoming increasingly awkward, he stepped back out of her way, a defeated sigh leaving his lips. She looked at him a little longer as though expecting more. When he didn't offer anything she cast her eyes away and walked past him, down the deck.

Jack cursed himself under his breath, kicking the bottom of the railing hard. He would say something to her next time she walked past for sure. Definitely next time. He had to because this was just getting ridiculous, driving him absolutely crazy. They were only words. Words he was good at. Words he could do.

He tried to watch her with subtle sideways glances so he could be prepared, but without wanting to be too obvious. Down at the far end of the deck she was talking to Jimmy, the occasional whipping breeze tugging viciously at the bottom of her coat. He couldn't work out what she was saying but the boy was patting her arm, reassuring her about something. Wasn't that meant to be his own job?

Jack's thoughts were interrupted as the footsteps of a large group of people caught his attention, coming from the opposite direction. He turned to see Carl and his investors heading his way, a couple of police officers ominously bringing up the rear like pack dogs waiting for their master's order to strike.

"If you don't like what I show you, if you don't think we can make a killing with this, then arrest me," he heard Carl say, clearly doing verbal gymnastics to save himself from prison, "But you have to see this. What can you lose, eh? I mean it's not going to make me any less able to pay you back, right?"

Carl laughed at that but his investors clearly didn't see the amusement in it.

Jack backed off, giving them plenty of room as the group approached him and they walked past without a second glance in his direction. Suited him fine.

Before they got much further though Preston came hurrying by, calling out Carl's name. When the other man failed to respond, Preston reached through the gaggle of men and yanked him to a stop by his collar.

Carl turned on him irritably, straightening his collar back into place.

"What is it Preston?" he asked with false pleasantry through gritted teeth, "In case you hadn't noticed I'm a little busy here?"

The other man didn't answer immediately, instead just pulling Carl a few paces back towards Jack, out of the investor's curious earshot but close enough so that even though he lowered his voice Jack could still hear them.

"Herb's family are here," Preston explained in an unsteady, troubled tone, "They wanna see him."

Carl looked unsettled for a moment, his face losing some of its colour, his eyes darting around as though looking for some kind of escape. When he apparently found none, a slightly trembling hand left his pocket and brought his hip flask to his lips. When he eventually closed the cap again, he took a deep breath, his gaze settling firmly back on his assistant.

"Be a good boy, Preston, go talk to them, would you?"

He went to go, to return to his investors, but Preston turned him roughly back by his arm, apparently incensed by Carl's heartless response.

"And what exactly I am supposed to tell them eh, Carl? The truth!"

The other man shrugged, an essence of uncaring nonchalance about his reaction although Jack knew him better than that.

"You'll think of something, you're good at that. It's what I pay you for."

"This was your picture!" Preston reasoned angrily, although still trying to keep his voice low, "He died on your film! The least you can do is tell his wife in person!"

"I'm busy," Carl intoned firmly with a hard look in his eyes, although Jack could see it was fear and not anger that made him so aggressive, "I can't be dealing with the little things, Preston, I've got to look at the bigger picture!"

"Carl-"

"Preston!" he snapped back, truly losing it for the first time, "Just do your damn job!"

Preston looked furious, indignant and incredulous all at the same time. Jack had a feeling that these were emotions that Carl brought up often in his assistant although never all at once or with such force.

"You know what?" he cried, not caring who heard him now, "Screw you, Carl! I quit!"

He turned on his heels, stalking off down the ship.

"You what?" Carl called after him, a mixture of shock and disbelief on his face.

"You heard me!" Preston shouted back, "I quit! Find someone else to do your dirty work for once. Or better yet do it your damn self!"

For probably the first time since he'd met him Jack momentarily saw Carl with absolutely nothing to say.

"Fine!" he spluttered out furiously when the words finally came, any demeanour of the calm, cool showman instantly lost, "Walk off! Have your sulk! You'll be back before the end of the week! Where else is a spineless son of a bitch like you gonna find a job?"

Preston was already gone.

Taking another large swig from his hip flask, a clearly shaken Carl finally realised that the exchanged hadn't gone unwitnessed. He looked at Jack for a long moment. At first there was challenge in his gaze, daring him to make comment on what he had overheard. Then he seemed to deflate, something deeper than hate clawing into his eyes. It was shame. Self loathing. At last Carl Denham had finally gone too far.

Then he took a deep breath, hurriedly mopping the ever growing sheen of perspiration from his brow and turned back to his investors. The showman was back again, the real man deeply buried, but now there was an edge of desperation in his manner that hadn't been evident before. It was a weakness and these guys were like sharks. Jack saw the smug look on one of the investor's faces and this time he had no problem muttering 'good luck' to Carl under his breath. He was going to need it.

As they moved out of sight towards the cargo hold and the encounter he had just witnessed started to drift towards the back of his mind, Jack realised that he had lost sight of Ann. His eyes hurriedly darted around, almost in a panic. He'd probably just missed her when she was in plain sight; it was dark after all. And she was likely the only woman in a good mile of this place, she shouldn't be that hard to see.

And she wasn't. His eyes soon found her at the bottom of a gang plank on the far end of the deck. It hadn't been there before. She'd obviously asked Jimmy if there was another way off the ship so she could avoid the reporters and police and he had provided her with one. Even from this distance Jack could see her slight smile as she turned and thanked the boy, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Then she turned and began to walk away.

A small part of Jack was hollering at him to run after her, but his legs wouldn't cooperate and he knew that even if he caught her, he still wouldn't know what to say.

He was beginning to doubt the words would ever come. Or if she wanted to hear them.

* * *

Ann stared silently at her own, almost unrecognisable reflection in the mirror. Just another one of the prancing ponies now, her job was to blend in, to be one of the faceless dozen. She was just part of the decoration, there to be looked at but never really seen, and it made her feel dead inside as she emotionlessly put on a pair of dazzling earrings. There was no excitement now, no rush of adrenaline as she prepared to perform. She was hollow. The world was hollow. But it was either this or the burlesque and this was definitely the lesser of two evils. At least she would leave here tonight with her dignity intact. Mostly. 

She slid a bracelet onto her wrist, having to do it up a little tighter than usual to keep it safely on. She didn't know if her half hearted attempts at meals from the meagre amount in her cupboards had in fact made her smaller or if she just felt it. When you had been under the protection of a twenty-five foot ape is was surprising how small and exposed you suddenly felt when you were alone again.

She looked away from the unbearably hypnotising effect of her new meaningless reflection, trying to clear her thoughts. She had to concentrate. Necessity was important now. She simply couldn't afford to lose this job. Carl had paid her rent for three months before they had departed - even though he had assured her that the undoubted success of his film meant she would never have to go back there again –- but as soon as she'd returned her landlord had informed her in no uncertain terms that if she didn't pay him by the end of the week she was out. The need to have a roof over her head and the insistence of her complaining stomach had driven her here and it would have to do for now. Things would pick up, they always did. She had to keep believing that.

Of course there was one other option, but that was entirely out of the question. Carl had asked her, begged her even, but she had flatly refused to appear in his show. It was bad enough Kong had been captured because of her, she wouldn't profit from his exploitation too, no matter how much she needed the money. Or at least that's what she told herself the reason for her refusal was. Certainly not that she couldn't face him, his eyes looking at her in bewildered incomprehension. How could he possibly understand the need for money and profit in order to survive?

Perhaps it would have been better if she had been there, perhaps he would be more docile and at peace if he could see her and understand that she was safe and there for him. Or maybe he'd just go crazy again. She couldn't let him get that distressed. She certainly couldn't bear to witness it another time.

And then there was always the chance that she may see Jack there. Even at the thought of him her blood ran a little warmer, a blush spreading to her cheeks. She was almost certain that he wouldn't have taken Carl's money either. He'd probably returned to his theatre. She wondered if he'd put on his new play, the one he had written for her…

They'd been so close to being everything…

Ann sighed, inwardly chastising herself. What did it matter what he was doing? He wasn't any concern of hers anymore than she was one of his. She'd been an idiot for believing it could work out between them. Sure, she'd been angry at him for a while, but she'd been angry at everyone. But as she'd begun to warm again he'd turned cold. Formal and awkward around her. Whatever they had once had, she had been right when she thought it was doomed. She'd doomed it, like she always did.

She had to forget him. Forget both of them. She had a performance to do. She needed to survive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **This is the final part and goodness was it a struggle to write. Trying to keep this 'real' without degenerating into fluff was very difficult indeed (I'm not always sure I quite managed it but it's the best I could do). I've left it there because there areideas for a sequel to the film forming in my head and I don't want to repeat anything. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, your comments have been very much appreciated.

* * *

**Part Four**

Jack tried to ignore the rushing wind and dizzying height as he climbed the ladder. Ann was up there, he had to focus on that. The same focus that had seen him through the jungles of Skull Island when everyone else had given up on her and turned back. He had to finally tell her, to explain how he felt before he didn't know how to. Before the words escaped him again.

He knew precisely what had made him leave his theatre and rush to the one that was hosting Kong's grand premiere, that much was simple. What he wasn't quite so sure of was why he had chosen to lead Kong off like that. He knew the animal was searching for Ann but what was he trying to do? Stop him finding her? Or had he just developed a rather annoying and dangerous hero complex? Either way the trip had left him with a pounding head and he wasn't quite sure how he had survived; Kong certainly hadn't looked pleased to see him.

As he reached the top of the ladder Jack instantly felt his stomach leave him. There she was, standing precariously close to the edge, looking down as though the only thought on her mind was to follow the great ape to the ground.

"Ann"," he said softly, frightened to startle her, trying to say everything in one word - to implore her to come away from the edge, to tell her it would be okay, to say he was sorry. To finally admit that he loved her.

He climbed off of the ladder and stood stock still, suddenly questioning if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe she didn't want to see him. Maybe she hated him and his appearance here would be the final thing that pushed her into taking that last fateful step over the edge.

Jack's breath froze in his lungs, terrified beyond belief. More so than he had been at any point during his search of the island.

'_Please, Ann,'_ his mind whispered in a silent prayer, _'Come back. Please. Just step back. For the love of God, don't do this to me…'_

She turned painfully slowly, the wind whipping at her rebellious curls, her face tear stained and disbelieving. She stared at him as though she had utterly no idea about what to make of his sudden appearance, as though it was the last thing in the world she had been expecting. And then slowly, agonisingly so, a glimmer of belief in something she'd thought lost seemed to strike her.

When she first began to move his brain screamed at him to make a grab for her in case his eyes were deceiving him and she was really moving towards the edge rather than him. Then the weight of her was in his arms and every thought but utter relief was banished from his mind.

He swayed her gently from side to side, burying his face in her hair, his arms clasping around her like her couldn't hold her tight enough. She hugged him back just as fiercely, her head resting in the crook of his neck, not seeming to mind that she had to stand on tip toes to do so.

They stood there like that, him whispering half meaningless words of comfort to her until he finally had the strength to let go. He was surprised to find her eyes dry, the merest hint of tears hiding in the corner.

She was in shock, that had to be it. He should get her away from here.

"Come on," he insisted gently.

She allowed him to lead her over to the ladder, carefully helping her on to it, worrying that she would slip in her precariously dainty heels. At the bottom she waited patiently for him, grabbing his hand as soon as he rejoined her, her small fingers half disappearing in his grasp. He had to remember not to hold her too tight, he didn't want to hurt her.

They walked in silence, Jack making sure she safely negotiated the broken glass on the floor. When they reached the lift, he found it still waiting there – no one else had dared entered the building since Kong had decided to make his last stand up there.

The ride down all one hundred and two floors seemed just as long this time as the last. He dreaded what awaited them at the bottom for Ann's sake more than anything. He kept glancing fretfully across, checking up on her, trying to make sure she was still with him, as stupid as it sounded to his own mind. They were in a damn lift for Christ's sake. Where was she going to go?

As they past the seventy sixth floor he thought he saw her shivering and frowned, running the hand that wasn't clutching hers softly down one of her arms. She was cold as ice in that ridiculously flimsy dress. Releasing her hold for a moment he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it firmly round her shoulders. It was so large it almost smothered her. As soon as he was done her hand searched his out again, her grip seeming to tighten with every floor closer to the ground they got.

When the doors finally opened with a perfunctory ding on the ground level they stepped out together, heading across the lobby to the doorway. Jack's pace faltered as they neared the exit. This wasn't going to be pretty that much was obvious. There were probably still reporters out there, circling round like vultures trying to get the last pickings of this story, that extra juicy morsel which made their paper the one people read about this in. They'd be on Ann in an instant if she went out that way. Not to mention the fact that the body of the king ape was sprawled on the sidewalk in who knows what kind of state after such a long fall. She certainly didn't need to see that.

Ann seemed to have other ideas however. As he slowed to a stop he felt her hand slip gently from his as she continued forward with a sense of inevitability.

"Ann," he called softly after her, almost pleading for her not to do this, "We can find another way. Go out the back or something."

She looked at him and shook her head in a rather uncoordinated manner, as though she was only half listening. When she continued to the door and Jack had no option but to follow.

In the street outside the crowds had thinned a little. Quite a few of the reporters had left, clearly deciding there was nothing more to be seen here and wanting to try to be the one who got their story out first. The police had erected barricades and had finally seemed to have gotten most of the general public behind them. Jack wondered what they intended to do. They didn't seem to have a plan or be waiting for anything in particular, just ambling around, trying to keep people away and idly gossiping with the soldiers that remained. What exactly did you do with the remains of a twenty-five foot ape anyway?

When she first left the building, no one seemed to notice Ann, gilding over to the fallen ape like some kind angel of mourning. Most were too busy chatting, gossiping and theorising about the whole incident to even feel her brush past them. One kindly looking old cop did stop and ask her if she was alright when he saw her coming towards him, but she walked straight past as if she hadn't heard a word. He would have gone after her had it not be for Jack's intervention, assuring him that it was okay and asking for him to just give her a minute.

As Ann stood staring vacantly at Kong a whisper began to go round, people beginning to take note. As her shaking hand reached out to tentatively take a few strands of fur in her fingers an amazed hush began to settle over the crowd, turning soon to enchanted silence. She slowly walked round the great fallen form, trailing her hands lightly through rough black and silver fur, trying to give comfort where it was no longer possible. She stopped for a moment at one of his large out stretched hands, staring at her former carriage, remembering how it had felt to be safe in there. Finally she moved up to his face. And despite the twisted look of his obviously broken body, his expression was one of peace.

Jack was thankful for that much at least, although the attention of the reporters was making him increasingly nervous.

Ann was seemingly oblivious to her audience though as she slowly reached out, laying her palm gently across Kong's huge cheek. Jack very much doubted he had allowed her to do that when he was alive. As her fingers ran tenderly over the scarred, leathery skin, he saw her allow herself a slight, watery smile and realised that this probably had been a good idea after all. She needed to say goodbye.

And then all hell broke loose.

Seemingly snapped out of their spells, the remaining reporters and photographers leapt into action. Flash bulbs fired like guns, questions barraged from every direction, people shoved and pushed one another to get closer to this woman who actually seemed to care for the fallen monster. Beauty and the beast come to life.

"Are you Ann Darrow, Miss?"

"What happened up there, Miss?"

"Did he hurt you, Miss?"

"What do you want to say to the brave pilots who rescued you from the monster, Miss?"

"A word for the Tribune, Miss?"

"Miss Darrow?"

"Miss?"

"Miss?"

"Miss?"

Ann looked stunned and startled by the sudden, brutal activity, almost as confused by the flurry of reporters as Kong himself had been back in the theatre. Flash bulbs illuminated her pale, shocked face and she blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what was going on.

Jack was there an instant later, shoving a couple of reporters roughly aside and threatening to deck a third if he didn't back off. He pulled Ann tight towards him, trying to shield her from the cameras and questions the same way he had from the natives, his eyes darting around for any possible escape. It wasn't looking likely any time soon.

Over the cacophony of questions and thudding bangs of flash bulbs he heard someone whistle sharply, quickly followed by numerous shouts of his name. He turned hurriedly, trying to keep Ann safely in his grasp. There, about a hundred yards away, bobbing up and down like a loon in an attempt to be seen in a crowd of men who were mostly taller than him, was Carl. He was shouting at Jack, beckoning them towards him. As much as he was aware that Denham was likely the last person in the world Ann wanted to see right now, Jack didn't see that they had much choice.

Using his shoulder as a battering ram, he hauled himself and Ann through the unforgiving crowd towards Denham. When finally they reached him, Carl ushered them quickly towards his car waiting a few feet away.

"Come on," he insisted opening the back door and shepherding them in, "Let's get outta here before the wolves get even more rabid."

Carl certainly took no prisoners as he slammed his foot on the accelerator and Jack was very grateful for it. At least half a dozen reporters nearly ended up under the wheels of the car, jumping out of the way at the very last moment when it became clear that Denham was in no mood to be messed with.

Jack only allowed himself to relax slightly when he saw the last few reporters giving up the chase, slowing to an exhausted stop and hunching over to catch their breath as the car sped away from them. He released his fierce grip on Ann slightly, his arm slipping more gently around her shoulders as her head lay against him.

"Thanks," he said to Carl, with a definite sigh of relief.

"Least I can do for you," the other man replied rather grimly.

Carl looked back at them in mirror. His gaze settled on Ann for a moment, an uncomfortable look clouding his eyes before he had to turn away to concentrate on the road again. Frowning, Jack glanced down to see that the tears had finally come, rolling mournful and silent down her cheeks. He pulled her a little closer, pressing a soft kiss into her hair, knowing he could nothing but offer her a shoulder to cry on. Literally.

He wanted to say the words. Desperately needed to. But now was not the right time.

* * *

The three of them walked into Jack's apartment in a silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable. There was simply nothing to be said and too much thinking to be done. 

The apartment wasn't a grand place by any means, but it was a lot better than most in this city had, and Jack knew he had to be very grateful that the Depression hadn't affected him as badly as it had others. He gently steered Ann over to the sofa, feeling how unsteady she was on her feet, like he was trying to hold up a rag doll. He sat her down and crouched in front of her, struggling to ignore how small and thin she looked still wrapped in his big coat. She always had been slender but now she was positively skinny. He picked up her still chilled hands in his, rubbing her fingers soothingly, attempting to return the warmth to them.

"You okay?" he asked, the stupidity of the question not hitting him until the words had already left his mouth.

His hand reached up, smoothing through her still windswept blonde hair.

"Do you want anything?"" he continued softly, trying to be more helpful, "Coffee? How does that sound?"

She nodded, the slightest trace of a smile ghosting onto her lips.

"Sounds nice. Warm at least."

Jack stood, not letting go of her hands until the last possible moment.

"Carl?" he asked, looking to the other man who was still hovering uncertainly near the doorway, "Do you want one?"

It was a gesture, not of forgiveness certainly, but of thanks. A sign that despite his faults Jack still accepted his friend as one of them, even though there were many bridges to be rebuilt before he'd considering trusting him again. If he ever did.

Carl shook his head, although his mind was clearly elsewhere lost in thought.

"No," he replied, "No thanks. I'd better get going actually. Probably should lay low for a while 'til this blows over.""

"If it blows over," Jack corrected, although he immediately felt bad for doing so.

Carl didn't need reminding of how much trouble he was likely in. Both city officials and his investors would probably not take long to start blaming him for his creature's destructive rampage. The quicker he got the hell out of town, the better. Of course that meant his career as a film maker was going to be dealt a huge blow for a while, if it recovered at all. Maybe it was over for him. Jack sincerely hoped it wasn't – it was what the man lived for, the only reason he kept breathing, something Jack could have long sympathised with before he'd met a girl on a boat.

"Yeah," Carl said with a bitter laugh of gallows humour, "You know me buddy. I don't screw up by halves."

"No," Jack agreed, a small smile gracing his lips, "That's not your style."

"But I really went for it big time with this one, huh?" he pointed out and for the first time Jack thought he could sense true remorse in the other man.

One thing he could rely on about Carl Denham; the man never ceased to surprise him.

When the silence that followed went on a bit too long he nodded.

"Be seeing you then."

He turned as if to leave, but paused, his hovering hand on the door handle, something holding him back.

"I'm sorry, Ann," he muttered quietly, feeling like he owed her that much at least, "I never wanted this."

"I know," she replied after a tense silence. Whatever Carl was guilty of he had never meant to hurt anyone. It certainly wasn't in his best interests and quite frankly Jack knew that deep down he was a better man than most gave him credit for.

Carl shared a look with Ann for a moment, giving her a small, grateful smile as he once again turned to leave.

"Carl?" Jack called as the other man opened the door and put a foot outside, "You look out for yourself, pal, okay?"

He grinned lopsidedly, "You know me. Looking out for me is what I do best."

No, Jack thought, making films was what Carl did best. But he was already gone before he could say it.

As he stepped into the kitchen Jack heard Carl's car pull away, watching from the window as it disappear around the corner. He was almost certain that Carl would bounce back, he always did in the end. He just hoped it wasn't too hard on him. Despite his faults Jack knew there was barely a malicious bone in his body. Plenty of thoughtless and stupid ones, but no malice. And maybe this experience was what he needed. A bit of a shake up to bring him back to the real world. Perhaps some good would come out of it after all. Maybe it would be the making of Carl Denham.

Having filled the kettle, Jack turned back to put it on the stove and was surprised at how quick his reactions were when he saw Ann standing in the doorway. He certainly jumped slightly, startled by her sudden presence, but he managed to steady his hand quickly enough to barely spill a drop of water.

"Are you okay?" she asked instantly, frowning at his reaction.

He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of her asking him that.

"Fine,"" he responded with a reassuring look, setting the kettle down and opening the near drawer to get some matches. He struck one, turning on the gas and lighting it before quickly shaking it out.

Ann stared unseeingly at the flames. When Jack looked at them all he could think of was the burning fires of the native village, their cackling screams and piercing cries. It still chilled him right through to his centre now, still occasionally woke him up in a cold sweat. It must have been a thousand times worse for her though, having been alone there and with no idea of what was going to happen to her or if anyone would come to her rescue.

"Ann?" he prompted quietly, and when she didn't respond he tried again, louder this time, "Ann?"

Her eyes shot up, a vague look on her face as though she'd been completely elsewhere for a moment. He had a pretty good idea where that place was and he didn't think she should be dwelling there.

"Hmm?" she asked, trying to smooth her expression back to normal, pretending nothing had just happened.

Jack went to speak but then felt stupid asking her if she was okay yet again.

"Don't worry,"" he assured and went back to finding some clean mugs and coffee.

"So," she said after a moment's pause, taking a couple of rather uneasy steps into the room, "How are things at the theatre?""

He frowned slightly, wondering where the question had come from and why such a comparatively mundane thing had been on her mind after all that had happened. But he shrugged to himself, deciding it was probably for the best if her mind was occupied with other things.

"Good," he replied with nod, "Things are going really good."

He paused, looking once again at Ann's thin frame and remembering that not all in his industry were as fortunate as he was. Most were unemployed or worse forced to do shows and performances that they despised in order to earn a less than meagre wage.

"We're lucky though," he added, "I'm lucky. The Federal Theatre's been good to me."

"You're good to the Federal Theatre," she corrected with a smile, "They're lucky to have you. They wouldn't have an audience if they didn't have such good plays. I heard you've got a new one."

Jack wondered where she'd heard it – if it had just been passing gossip or if she had been specifically searching out news on him. He certainly wasn't going to ask her though.

"Yeah it's good," he said with a nod before realising how that sounded.

"Not my play, I mean," he tried to clarify, "I'm not saying my play's really good. Just things in general are good."

No, that wasn't right either.

"Not that the play's bad. It's okay, it's just…" he shook his head as he trailed off, disgusted by his own verbal incompetence, wondering how she managed to be the only person in the world who inhibited his ability to string coherent sentence together, "Jesus Christ..."

Ann's smiled broadened to wider lengths than he'd seen it in a long time and he thought he saw a fondness in her face. At least he hoped he did. God, he'd missed her. Twelve weeks together on a boat, never far away from her company, he should have felt claustrophobic and trapped. He didn't like it when people got too close. He liked to keep a bit of distance, a bit of space for himself and his thoughts. But that's where Ann seemed to belong, in that space he kept between himself and the rest of the world. To go cold turkey like that, to suddenly have her presence ripped away from him had been gut wrenching. He could understand now how Kong must have felt when he had stolen her back from him.

He wanted her to ask more about the play so he could tell her that it was her comedy and that it just wasn't the same as he had imagined without her in it, but she simply continued to smile shyly, saying nothing.

The polite thing to do would be to ask how she was – whether she had found work, what she was doing. But it felt like he was prying and part of him was happier in ignorance. Times were getting tougher and theatre jobs were few. Vaudeville was almost extinct and only the burlesque houses could offer a guarantee of employment to a pretty young actress. Jack stomach lurched at the thought of his Ann in such a place.

_His_ Ann? When had he become so territorial?

Having nothing to say and feeling stupid about it, he turned to the fridge to get some milk out. When he turned back Ann had suddenly moved and was standing less than a foot in front of him. He was certainly startled but curiosity stilled him. They stared at each other for a moment, Jack wondering, Ann biting her lip in indecision. Then something seemed to make up her mind, although apparently she wasn't quite sure about it because she launched herself at him before she could change it again.

Her lips collided heavily with his and it took Jack a good five seconds to realise that Ann was kissing him, albeit rather clumsily without his co-operation. He was so shocked that his fingers seemed to forget what they were doing and he didn't even realise that the milk had slipped from his grasp until he heard the smash of the bottle on the floor.

At once, and much to his disappointment, Ann was gone, already bending down to try to clean up the mess, muttering hurried apologies.

Jack stood stock still for a moment, needing to allow his brain time to catch up with the situation. Then he bent down too, ushering her away, telling her to go sit in the lounge whilst he sorted everything out.

When he re-entered the room a couple of thoughtful minutes later he saw her sitting nervously on the couch, wringing her hands. Something in the look on his face had obviously betrayed his underlying confusion because as soon as she looked at him she stood, shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry," she rapidly apologised, "I can just go."

He swiftly intercepted her a few paces from the door, blocking her path. She looked wistfully towards her escape but made no move to go there.

"You kissed me," he stated carefully.

Her eyes looked downwards, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said again, this time definitely going to step around him.

He stopped her.

"Don't be."

Her gaze shot up, bewilderment on her face mixed with the tiniest spark of hope.

"You didn't mind?"

A slow smile crept across his features, "Not exactly, no."

"Oh."

This time he kissed her. Softly. Lips lingering on each other for mere moments in the gentlest brush. When he pulled back Ann's eyes remained closed, savouring the feeling. He smiled fondly again, the touch of his hand on her cheek sliding back into her hair making her look at him with wide, beautiful blue eyes.

"Forgive me?" he whispered.

Ann looked at him with genuine confusion.

"For what?"

"Being an idiot," he said with a wry smile, "I love you. So much. But I couldn't find the words to say it."

"You?"" she teased, her body pressed so close against his, seeming to warm at his admission, "The great writer stuck for words? Never!"

He grinned wider, "Stupid, huh?"

"Very," she agreed, her hand running up and down his back, fingers leaving a trail of pleasant tingles in their wake.

"All I had to say was 'I love you'." he whispered softly, amazed at how easily the words suddenly came. How simple they needed to be.

He leaned in to kiss her again but she put her fingers to his lips to stall him.

"More than your theatre?" she asked in a playful tone, "More than your plays?"

"Absolutely," he intoned, joining her smile.

"Good," she said, her hands sliding up his chest in a way that made him near weak kneed, "Because I don't want to have to share you."

Jack smiled, feeling impossibly amazing at those words and kissed her again, taking his time to commit to memory the feel of her lips on his.

"You're still cold," he said, eventually pulling away, running his hands up and down her arms, "Why don't I go finish making that coffee?"

When he returned to the lounge a few minutes later he smiled to see Ann's soundly sleeping form curled up on his sofa. It really had been a long night, the dawn sunshine slipping through the gap in the closed curtains. Putting the coffee tray down, Jack went and fetched a blanket, draping it over her, carefully smoothing her tangled hair off of her face and planting a tender kiss on her cheek. Then he crossed over to his desk, coffee in hand, pushing the typewriter out of the way in favour of the quieter pen and paper as he settled down to write a new play.

It wasn't all about the words, no. But in the end they really could make the world of difference.


End file.
